The (Mis)Adventures of Jin, the Mostly Unremarkable Argonian Sneak
by LJDempsey
Summary: The Hist Trees told of his coming. Their sap was merely a distraction 'til the time after Dragonborn appeared, when this son of the Marsh would spill dovahkiin blood. But no one wanted to believe he even existed. And when the truth finally dawns, it dawns in shadow! But there is one the Dragonborn should fear. In his tongue, he is "Jin"! Just Jin. Not a shadowscale.


The (Mis)Adventure Begins

_The Hist Trees told of his coming. _

_Their sap was merely a distraction 'til the time after Dragonborn appeared, when this son of the Marsh would spill dovahkiin blood. _

_But no one wanted to believe... Believe he even existed. And when the truth finally dawns... It dawns in shadow! _

_But there is one the Dragonborn should fear. In his tongue, he is "Jin"! Just Jin. Not a shadowscale, but you'd think that_.

~M'aiq the Liar

* * *

Let's get one thing straight, alright? Just because I'm an Argonian with black-as-tar scales doesn't mean I'm a Shadowscale, Okay? Oh, never mind the red accents accents or anything—no they're not blood! That's my natural scaletone. Yes, black and red, is that so hard to believe? And no, I'm not part of the Dark Brotherhood either. I don't care, I know you were thinking it. Ever since my dear friend Veezara sent me this sweet armor, people have been assuming that too. Coincidentally, you wouldn't happen to know anything about where the Skyrim Dark Brotherhood sanctuary is, would you?

* * *

Why Skryim? Of all the places he could have gone, why this blasted cold, Nord-infested ice-lolly of a land? I mean, yeah, I know the Dark Brotherhood took him in because his whole shadowscale deal, but why not Hammerfell? Or Elsweyr? Cyrodiil? Anywhere where I could walk into a trader and not have to deal with being called a boot and the guy's brother apologizing for it before turning around and threatening me should I contemplate stealing. It's like he assumes just because my scales are black, I'm going to sneak behind the counter and check his pockets for loose gold.

Only twelve pieces? I don't care if this is Falkreath. You can do better.

"Give me a rabbit haunch and a bowl of apple cabbage stew," I say, dropping six of his coins on the counter.

"The apple's extra."

"Fine." Take your extra one piece back. Not like it wasn't yours to begin with.

After he brings me my purchase, I pour the stew into a skin and take a bite out of the rabbit. "So, Mr. Nord," I say, leaning onto the counter and waving my rabbit haunch in his general direction.

"It's Solaf."

"Right." I take another bite of the rabbit. "You hear of any suspicious black doors around here?"

"You mean the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary?" Wait, people just know about these things now? "It's west of here just off the road in a pit with a little black pond. Can't miss it."

Oddly specific. "Uh, right, thanks." On my way out the door, I hear him say something else, but I don't pay enough attention to make it out. Something about a fire. Whatever. It's kind of weird how everyone just kind of knows about this whole cloak-and-dagger underground people-killing operation, but it's whatever. Veezara would be happy enough for my visit, and I'd get to see his relatively new digs. I guess a hole in the wall beats the marsh. Well, it would if it wasn't so damn cold.

And just like Soleaf or Sobroke or whatever his name is said, I find it right there just off the road in a little depression. But there are barrels of oil strewn about. And bodies. Lots of bodies. Some of them Imperial. One of them, an old man pinned to a tree and stuffed with more arrows than a slaughterfish has teeth, is wearing Dark Brotherhood robes.

That's about when I drop what's left of my rabbit and draw my bow.

The massive black door with the skull relief and black handprint sits ajar, allowing me to peer inside. All I see is ash. Blackened stone. Bodies. Sneaking inside, I see even more bodies, all charred to the bone. One of which I recognize.

Well, it isn't right off the bat, but I realize Veezara was probably the only one with a tail here. Not counting the werewolf guy he often mentioned in letters. And by often I mean a lot. Like every other paragraph. Usually in conjunction an updated version of his plan to kill him and sleep with his wife, which was weird in its own right because she's the "mother" of their "family" or something, but I guess now isn't the time to think about—

A sound. Something skittering and a splash from downstairs. Bow at the ready, I slink down the ashen stone steps in absolute silence. It was thanks to the boot Veezy gave me, really. Footfalls were a thing of the past with the Neloth's Netch Jelly Boot Inserts he put in them. I mean, I'm not so bad a sneak without them, but now I don't even have to try. It's like, I walk up to the khajiit pawing through the not-so-burned remains in the main hall of the sanctuary, stick the tip of a drawn steel arrow in the back of his neck, and say, before he notices me, "Tell me who did this before I put you down faster than you can sniff a line of moon sugar."

The khajiit stiffens, raises his hands, and his tail poofs to three times its size. "This one has no idea what it is you are speaking of," he purrs. Growls? How exactly do you describe the sound of a scared cat trying to plead for his life?

I prod him with my arrow. "Don't be stupid. Lots of dead bodies here. One of them's my friend. Either you did or you didn't. Which is it."

"You would not like to anger this one," he growls. Definitely a growl this time.

I take a step back. Not because I'm scared or anything, I just realize that trying to fire an arrow at someone it's already touching isn't my best idea. It's actually pretty stupid.

"And why's that."

With the space I gave him, the khajiit stands, rising slowly like a man using a levitation spell much too weak for his weight. "Because this one is DRAGONBORN."

"So's my left nut." And I loose my arrow.

I didn't mean to loose it, not yet anyway, but the leftover smoke finally got to my lungs and my fingers slipped. So now I've got a wounded khajiit on my hands who thinks he's dragonborn—when we all know that guy is a blond-haired blue-eyes pasty white Nord manchild—flopping about on the ground exclaiming, "No more, this one yields!"

"Do you?" I ask, nocking a second arrow.

"Yes, yesss, this one will even tell you who was responsible for this destruction."

I lower my bow and walk up to the mewling khajiit, and take hold of the arrow in his shoulder. I lift up on it until his breath comes in sharp gasps and he's back on his feet. "No more games?"

"No more, no more!"

"Good." I pat his shoulder right next to the arrow. I try not to grin when he winces. "Who did this."

"It was—the true dragonborn is the responsible one."

I lean in so he can hear me whisper, "You know, if you're lying to me…" I pull back and let the grin, my favourite grin, expose my pointed argonian teeth.

"There is no need for threats; this time, this one speaks the—FUS!"

I stumble backwards and lose my grasp on the overgrown cat, more out of surprise than the force of the Shout. Clearly, if that was all he could manage, he's no dragonborn, because a Shout that pathetic couldn't have killed a den full of trained assassins and Imperial legionnaires. But as I stumble backwards, something clicks in the back of my mind. I feel a tingle in the back of my throat, and for reasons I can't comprehend, I say as we both stagger to our feet,

"I think you meant, _FUS._"

A ripple of air bursts from my mouth, knocking me to my back and the khajiit into the wall behind him. As I scramble back to my feet, I spot him, but he's motionless in the little pond sprinkled with stained glass. Striking the wall must have killed him. Yeah, definitely not dragonborn material, that one.

Unlike my left nut, apparently.

At the side of the pond, I reach out to him and hook his tunic with my bow to pull him ashore. A search of his body reveals nothing: no name, no gold coins, no papers or any sort of belongings. Nothing but a grey pendant of three eyes overlaying two concentric circles on a black leather line. Whatever it is, it feels… compelling.

So I put it on.

I know, I know. This is Tamriel. Throwing on random articles of equipment you find could be a shortcut to whatever afterlife you're looking for. Lucky for me, all I got was a shiny pendant. And the urge to talk people into things. Which is going to come in handy, I suppose, because if I'm going to be hunting the dragonborn, I'll need to be convincing. Because, even if d.b. isn't responsible, I can at least get some answers from the guy. Either way, someone's getting stabbed over Veezy.

Oh, and that Shout you're wondering about? Yeah, I'm just as confused as you.


End file.
